Page 50 of On the Rocks

He moved in again, and though I chuckled, I felt a shade of embarrassment leak into my gut at his words. “I mean that we’re sleeping in my parents’ house, and we get married in five weeks.” I shrugged, running my finger over his chest. “I don’t know, it might be kind of fun to pretend. Go the traditional route. Wait until our wedding night.”

Anthony’s face screwed up like he thought that was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard, but as his eyes searched mine, he blew out a long sigh, dropping his forehead to my shoulder with a groan. “Fine.”

I chuckled, patting his head like he was a child.

“I’d do anything for you,” he said, lifting his head. He ran the pad of his thumb over my chin, pulling me in for a long, sweet kiss. “And you’re worth the wait.”

I swallowed, smiling through the unfamiliar discomfort I felt. He was my fiancé, I used to squirm under his touch, anticipating more.

Now, I wanted to crawl out of my skin.

“Thank you,” I whispered, kissing him again, this time with my hands in his hair and pulling him closer. I wanted to erase the discomfort, convince myself it was just pre-wedding jitters, or the overstimulation of the day.

I love him, I told myself as we kissed. And I knew it was true.

I just couldn’t place theotheremotion that I felt.

“Okay, okay,” he said, breaking our kiss and smacking my butt playfully. “Stop kissing me like that if you’re not going to put out, little lady.”

I giggled, pecking his cheek once more before I let him go. “I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep. See you at breakfast in the morning?”

“See you then. And, hey,” he said, sweeping my hair from my face. “You were wonderful tonight. I’m so lucky to have a woman like you standing behind me.”

My throat tightened again at the phrasing he used. I knew what he meant, that I was by his side, his partner in crime — but the thought of me only standingbehindhim made my stomach turn.

And Noah’s words popped into my mind.

I smiled, running my hand over his arm until I held his hand in mind. I squeezed it once, excusing myself in the next breath and escaping to my bedroom.

As I showered and got ready for bed, I tried to decompress from the night. I ran through everything I loved about it, and chose to acknowledge the things I didn’t love so much without judging them. I let those thoughts pass almost like clouds in the sky, touching each of them before I let them pass without another thought.

I had a tendency to overthink, and I knew in my heart that was what was happening now. I still loved Anthony. I still wanted to marry him. I still wanted to be the woman next to him when he was sworn into office as State Representative, and one day, as the President of the United States.

This was the life I wanted. This was the life I was always meant to live.

I crawled into bed with a renewed sense of ease and excitement for the weekend. I had wedding planning to do, and Anthony would be there with me. I wasn’t alone anymore, and I took comfort in that as my eyelids grew heavy, the gentle breeze outside lulling me into a peaceful sleep.

Until around three in the morning, when I woke from a dream with a sheen of sweat on my forehead and Noah Becker’s name on my lips.

Noah

The next night, my brothers and I sat on Mom’s porch, drinking beer and decompressing from work while Mom made her famous pork chops inside. She had Fleetwood Mac’sRumorsalbum blasting as she sang and danced along, moving around the kitchen, occasionally popping outside to see if any of us needed another beer. Family dinner night was always the happiest I saw Mom. It was when she had all her boys home, a meal to cook, a purpose.

I kicked back in one of the rocking chairs on the porch, one boot propped on the porch railing as I cracked open a new beer. I was still dirty from raising barrels all day, my muscles aching from the additional lifting I’d done loading up the single barrels the night before into buyer vehicles after the Soirée.

The sun was beginning its slow descent over our sleepy Tennessee town, casting Mom’s small garden in an evening glow as I took in the sight of my brothers. Jordan was still in his coaching gear, fresh off a day of summer training with Stratford High’s football team hopefuls. Logan wore his Scooter Whiskey tour guide polo and faded denim jeans, his face as worn as mine from working the night before at the Soirée and then an entire Friday shift, too. And though Mikey didn’t have to work the Soirée, he had still been there all night, dancing with Bailey before having to report for an all-day shift at the Scooter Whiskey gift shop.

It’d been a long Friday for all of us, and the normally rowdy Becker brothers were almost completely silent as we watched the sun set, sipping on our beers, rocking in our chairs, just existing together. We’d talk for a little bit before falling silent again, until someone else felt enough energy to pipe up.

“The boys looked good out on the field today when I drove by,” Logan commented to Jordan.

My older brother nodded. “Glad that’s what you saw. It was a mess from where I was standing.”

I chuckled. “You say that every year, and then you make it to state or damn near.”

He humphed. “Sometimes we get lucky. Sometimes we don’t.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Logan said. “A hard-working team and the best coach in Tennessee does, though.”